


Road to Ruin.

by Grindelwald



Series: The Art of Poetic Self Destruction. [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, College AU, Comedy, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slash, University AU, larry stylinson - Freeform, pining!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grindelwald/pseuds/Grindelwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can still, vaguely remember saying,<i> “I just - I really want to find someone nice. I want to fall in love. You know what I mean?</i></p><p>At the time, he didn't receive a real answer, but now there is this. The handwriting isn’t perfect, written in a rush, but the words still knock the breath out of him.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Feel free to fall in love with me, Harry Styles. - Lou xx’</i></p><hr/><p>University AU in which Harry meets Louis and falls swiftly and clumsily, even though really all he wants is to be able to afford decent meals and pass his first year of University. Louis is in his third year and is absolutely shattered about it all, would much prefer hunching up in Costa coffee reading Sylvia Plath and writing poetry about boys who don't have curly hair or stalker tendencies. Zayn is a bit of a #LAD, and would do anything for a laugh or a decent lay, and would really appreciate it if a certain blond boy kept his gob shut about it. Niall is a beautiful wreck who really just wants Zayn, all of him. - And Liam just can't wait to graduate, flee the country and tell all four of them to go to hell.<br/>//EDITING.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0 - Prologue.

**Prologue**  

“I just - I really want to find someone nice. I want to fall in love. You know what I mean?” 

He only receives a grunt in response, but continues anyway. They are sitting on the second floor of a loud club that honestly smells a little like too many Jagerbombs gone sour. He’d only met him after plopping down onto the couch beside him, unannounced, and immediately launched into a rant about another man who asked him if he would suck him off in the lavatory. He can’t register anything other than dizzying lights, the warmth of the alcohol in his veins and the sound of Kanye West laid over Rihanna. “He said I have the _mouth_ of a cocksucker,” He slurs indignantly, green eyes darting to the other boy looking for any form of response besides listening noises.  

Blue irises, he could tell that much even in the purple hue of the club, and lovely long eyelashes he would die to have kiss his own. The beautiful, blue-eyed boy snorts, giving him a serious look. “No offence, mate,” He drawls, his voice raspy and soft. “But you sort of do.” There’s a wicked glint in those eyes that makes his stomach flip, but he chooses to ignore it. 

“What is this shit?” He mumbles. “Is there a module I’m unaware of? Lips Made to Suck: Crash Course?” The body beside him shakes with laughter that he can _feel_ more than he can hear, and he feels a hand on his thigh.  

“Don’t take it to heart. I’d personally _love_ to have those lips wrapped around my thick c-”  

“If you’re _done_ chatting up freshers, Louis, do you mind?” A deep voice cuts into the nervous atmosphere the blue-eyed boy - Louis, had created. While he wouldn’t have dared tear his eyes away from Louis’s a moment ago, he suddenly feels brave enough to look at their intruder. Tall, dark and handsome has never been quite so masterfully embodied by a single human being before. Tan skin, cheekbones that could cut diamonds, and smouldering dark eyes. Altogether painfully gorgeous to look at, and the realisation that Louis was _with_ him makes any sense of naive hope crash down to his stomach.   

Louis laughs, and he thinks it’s the loveliest laugh he’s ever heard. Both breathless and boyish at the same time. “Piss off, Zayn,” He says seriously, “I take it someone pulled a downer again?”

“Un-fucking-believable. Such a fucking waste, she nearly chundered on my shoes.” Zayn murmurs darkly, voice laced with venom before his eyes flicker to him, still attached to Louis by the hip, green eyes wide. “Who’s the child?” 

He flinches at ‘child’, and Louis speaks up. “Oh! You make a good point for once, Malik. I’m so proud.” Those blue eyes are on him again, and he solemnly swears he’d do anything in the world to keep them there. “What’s your name, love?”

“Harry,” He stammers, thinks it’s not only the alcohol that’s affecting his speech. “H-Harry Styles.” A heart-melting smile spreads on Louis’s face that makes Harry’s heart skip a beat, and when he tugs on one of his dark curls, he feels as though if Zayn wasn’t there he would faint. 

“Louis,” He responds before jutting his chin toward Zayn. “The Grinch.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs humourlessly. “Is he even old enough to be in here?”

Weakly, Harry manages to be offended enough to raise his wrist, a phosphoric green wristband wrapped around it. “You really are a fresher,” Louis says in wonder before informing him, “I’m a third year - Architecture.”

That’s a seven year course, Harry notes absently. Doesn’t know why it matters so much, it’s clear from the amused expression on Zayn’s face that he shouldn’t expect to see either of them ever again. “I’m.. I’m st-studying Environmental - E-Engineering, that is,” he manages just barely. 

“Okay,” Louis whispers. When he smiles, there are crinkles at the corners of his eyes and Harry drunkenly fantasises about kissing them. 

“Oh fuck it. _Use protection_ ,” Zayn says, but his voice sounds incredibly far away as Louis seems to lean in impossibly closer. There’s the rank stench of alcohol between them, and much to Harry’s embarrassment, entirely on his own end. The couch feels sticky beneath the palms of his hands, and the lights are making him sweat more than he normally would. None of these things matter except that his lips are not even an inch away, and then there’s no distance at all, Louis swallowing the gasp that bubbles up his throat before licking into his mouth. 

 

-x- 

When Harry wakes up, he’s alone in his small student bedroom wrapped up in his sheets. There’s a crick in his neck and while his memories of the previous night are incredibly foggy, he remembers enough to feel slightly disappointed that he came home alone after all. With a groan, he lifts his head from his pillow, and immediately regrets it when the room starts to spin and his brain begins pounding. Sleepily, green eyes notice smeared words against his forearm. The handwriting isn’t perfect, written in a rush, but the words still knock the breath out of him. 

‘ _Feel free to fall in love with me, Harry Styles. - Lou xx’_


	2. 1 - The Meet Cute.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harry,” He says, voice filled with confusion, but above all else recognition.
> 
> Fear is an offensive understatement to what Harry is feeling, but then he remembers. Remembers the note he reluctantly washed off before going out, sees it fresh in his mind.
> 
>    
>  _“I’m here to fall in love with you.”_  
> 

Fresher’s week is heaven and hell pressed into one mess of confusion. It is hangovers, late nights out, and running for your life to catch a Hopper bus so you don’t miss your lecture. Harry is not yet acquainted enough with his campus to walk from his halls of residence to his lectures in confidence. At least his lectures are in fairly standard places. It still baffles him that Mariah, a girl who lives two doors down for him and studies Film Studies, has lectures in the Physics building. He doesn’t attempt to understand, either, because by the time he’s done with all his classes it’s already five and he has to rush back if he wants to have an edible dinner. Nothing can quite distract him either, except perhaps thinking about the lazy scrawl on his arm he’s disgusted with himself for not having washed off. It’s been two days, and he’s slightly grateful he doesn’t have friends close enough to talk to about this. That isn’t to say he doesn’t have friends, because he has people he goes to the nights out with, people who recognise him and yell, “Harry!” from across the corridor. That doesn’t mean he fits in. As if the lad culture isn’t bad enough, the University seems riddled with rivalries he could care less about, which went from rival universities, to rival halls, to rival _floors_   and he suspected there are rival cliques as well, but he hasn’t noticed. Honestly, the brunette can care less when all he can think about was food, how he missed his mother, making it to all his classes, and - well - Louis. 

The fresh memory of bright blue eyes and strawberry sweet kisses seems to be all he can access beyond the areas in his brain reserved for schoolwork and family. In his defence, Harry doesn’t think about him all the time. Just during two-hour lectures, long breaks, in the shower, after he’s done with homework, when he’s getting ready for a night out, when he reaches the club and - so maybe he thinks about the boy more than he’d like. It’s not like he can help it, but after two nights out with no luck of spotting him, he’s beginning to think it’s impossible. So, when he reaches the dining hall, and one of the boys who lives in his corridor begins enthusiastically promoting the idea of going out to a _Heaven and Hell_ themed event, Harry agrees, but his voice doesn’t host the same note of childish excitement as it would have a day prior.  He’d met a perfect boy, he tells himself, because he honestly thinks so. Louis has a laugh that could melt an iceberg, eyes that remind him of the London Planetarium - comets, meteors, stars, both heavenly and deeply blue - and his lips were velvety soft against his own. He just isn’t lucky enough to hold onto him.

-x-

He’s on his fifth round of double Jack and coke when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. When he turns, he’s met by a _smack_ on the lips, clumsy and ineffective. Green eyes wide, he just about has enough wits about him to push the girl away. She giggles, says, “Thought you were someone else.”

“I thought so, too,” He says, attempting to sound enigmatic, but confusing himself in the process. His eyebrows furrow at the centre. 

“Deep,” She hums in appreciation, though really they both must have been shouting since the music is loud, blaring, and not quite as good as it was the night he met Louis. She’s dressed as a devil, like him, only her costume is more elaborate. She looks ripped out of a VS show. “Who are you with?” 

Blinking around him, he realises that he was so absorbed in his binge drinking he didn’t notice everyone had left him to hit the dance floor. When he looks at her, he smiles sheepishly. “I’m here with you.”  

Another giggle of delight flutters past her lips, and Harry thinks he’s great because he managed to make her laugh. A mouth-stretching smile plays on his lips with triumph. “You’re cute,” She states, probably shouts.  

“You, too!” He yells back, and then suddenly she’s dragging him away and around, taking him to another area of the club altogether. There’s a change in music as they move into the smaller area, and it doesn’t take long before she seems to discover where she’s leading him. There’s a group lounging on a couch in the corner of the room. He recognises one face, but can’t place a name to it. It seems ridiculous, because Harry thinks he could be a Vogue model easily. He has dark hair, and there is a blond boy sitting in his lap and breathing against his neck. “Who’s _that_?” He hisses to the girl.  

“Oh sweetheart, that’s Zayn,” She says, and he doesn’t notice this, but apparently they’re dancing and she’s _really_ good, whereas he’s swaying like a fish on the verge of death. “I know he’s _delicious_ , but Niall has him for the night. He might _look_ like an angel, but that twat has teeth sharp as razors, and he wouldn’t hesitate to bite.”   

 _Zayn._ The name sounds familiar, too, but he still can’t place a finger on it. “Don’t worry!” He protests. “That’s not why I asked, I just uh, thought I knew him.” Though now that she’s pointed out the blond is feral, he worries a bit for the girl throwing herself at the dark-skinned boy.   

The girl throws him a look, but shakes her head and wraps her arms around her neck as she tries to force him to dance more seriously. If he were sober, he might have protested, but since he’s so far gone he can barely tell if her hair is curly or straight, he lets her swing him around like a ragdoll.  

“DANIELLE, YOU TRAITOROUS WENCH, I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!” Even with the loud music as a backdrop, that voice is flinchingly loud. Harry rears back. Green eyes wide and scared, he realises he might have upset this girl’s boyfriend. He prepares excuses in his head, drunkenly stumbling over his own thoughts. _I’m gay, I didn’t know, I don’t like women, I’m really not trying anything, I know this looks bad, but -_

His mantra is cut off abruptly by Danielle bursting into laughter. “Yeah, well, you left me, you utter wanker. You _and_ Liam both. I have this cuddly cupcake now instead,” She snuggles closer to him and he staggers slightly. Bravely, he dares take a glance out of the corner of his eye. Out of all possible, horrible outcomes, he doesn’t expect to see Louis there. Then it all comes crashing down, who Zayn is, Louis’s sour friend, and he feels like this looks very wrong. Like he’s stalking Louis or something, which he most definitely isn’t - not anymore anyway.  

Those godly blue eyes, glassy and captivating, widen in surprise, eyebrows raised, and his perfect mouth parted in an ‘Oh’. “Harry,” He says, voice filled with confusion, but above all else recognition. 

Fear is an offensive understatement to what Harry is feeling, but then he remembers. Remembers the note he reluctantly washed off before going out, sees it fresh in his mind. 

“I’m here to fall in love with you.” 

Is what he wanted to say, but instead he panics, pulls away from Danielle and begins pushing through the crowd like Louis threatened him with a chainsaw. He runs away back to the main area and leans against a bar, panting. 

It isn’t too long after he hears that breathless, sweet voice again, and he wants to crawl into a hole and never come out. “I always pegged you as an angel,” He hears him say, and it forces him to meet his eyes.  

A hot blush clings to his cheeks, and for some reason out of everything he wants to say, what he ends up saying is, “I’m not stalking you. I know you left that note, but I’m not stalking you.” 

Befuddlement, as it cannot be adequately described as anything else, washes over Louis’s features. “Note?” He echoes.  

“Uhm,” Harry stutters, flushes. “Y-Yeah. Do you not remember? What... What you wrote on my arm?” He feels even worse when Louis shakes his head. “Were you... drunk, or....?” 

Louis looks genuinely apologetic, and Harry hates him for it. It doesn’t make sense, of course, but the alcohol begged to differ. “I don’t _drink_ , Harry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep, I wanted to have this done fast enough for there to be an idea of the story and its characters. So, the updates won't actually be this frequent. Thanks so much for all the Kudos and reads so far. Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. The Morning After.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He then realises what this means. He'd slept in Louis’s room last night, he’d slept in his bed, he’d practically slept with Louis. He is so overwhelmed he barely notices the parchment slipped in between his fingers. 
> 
> His eyes flicker upwards at the paper. The handwriting is distinguishably different. It’s cursive, neat, and almost unreal in its beauty - much like Louis himself, he thinks. Like before, the words inked on the page startle him, but this time a smile crawls onto his face with the knowledge that it genuinely is from him this time. 
> 
>  
> 
> _I break for lunch at two. Costa by Blackwell’s? xx Lou._

When he wakes up, it’s like every other day of the past week. His mouth is sour from the morning, stomach sick with alcohol, and matted hair sticking up in different directions. There’s something sticky on his face that feels like frosting, and he is so sore he would hire a hitman to take him down and rid him of the pain. There’s still something different, something Harry doesn’t quite notice until he lifts himself onto his elbows.

 

He is not in his room.

 

He’s in a bed, sure, and a comfortable one at that. A double bed with blue pillows and sheets, and a mattress that’s slightly too large for the base. He’s almost completely dressed, but Harry’s always preferred sleeping nude anyway, so the fact he has any clothes on at all is baffling to him. The most pressing problem isn’t that he’s in a strange house, possibly an abductor’s, but that he honestly can’t remember anything from the prior night. Well, that’s not true. He could remember painful flashes of running into Louis at some point, but not much beyond his denial that he wrote the note in the first place. Groaning, he rolls onto his back. He can hear voices somewhere nearby, but can’t bring himself to move, to even remember what day it was. Does he have a 9:00 lecture? - He _always_ has 9:00 lectures, and it was that thought that has him sitting up abruptly. The sudden movement makes his head spin horribly and he wants to stab himself. “ _Fuck,_ ” He hisses, cradling his head. “Never again, Styles. You are never drinking ever, ever again.”

 

“D’ye always talk to yourself?” A voice says, mumbles really, muffled by something that Harry discovers is toast. There is a blond boy in the doorway, leaning against the frame looking thoroughly fucked. Absolutely scandalised, displaying hickeys that can make a prostitute faint, sunflower hair tousled and sticking up at random angles, dark circles around cornflower blue eyes that suggest he hasn’t slept a _wink_. Panic sets into his system. Is this what happened to him the previous night? Did he come home with this blond twink and - and - 

 

Before he can go much further in his thought process, the blond saunters closer, and Harry swallows down the lump in his throat when he sees he’s completely nude aside from a flimsy pair of black boxers that can’t possibly be his, sliding down his porcelain hips shamelessly. He waves a hand in front of his face, but Harry can’t even let his green eyes blink out of pure and utter shock. The blond scrunches up his nose before yelling over his shoulder, “Zayn! Can ye check if this kid is comatose or summat? I’m starting to get a _wee bit_ freaked out.”

 

_Zayn._ That name means something to him, but the memory is hidden somewhere between a pretty brunette who danced with him, and Louis desperately trying to comfort him. He remains statue still, too scared to move in case he discovers that this is real, that this isn’t just a dream. He hears the padding of footsteps against linoleum and a gruff voice barking, “Where in the flying _fuck_ are my _stupid fucking_ boxers - Oh. Horan, I should have fucking known, you perverted wanker.”

 

_Oh, it’s him_ , his mind snaps into focus as he realises why Zayn is relevant and stares at him in utter confusion. He went home with both of them? That didn’t even make slight sense, and trying to fix that was causing his head to hurt. Absently he finds enough time to wonder how he’s managed to forget Zayn twice now, considering he seems completely comfortable standing in the centre of the room starkers yelling at the blond boy while Harry is in the room. 

 

The blond flashes him a sheepish grin. “I was hoping you’d get mad, punish me by bending me over the kitchen counter and fu-”

 

He hears a terrified squeak and doesn’t realise it comes from him until both Zayn and Horan look his way. Green eyes wide and scared, he flickers his gaze between the two before settling for staring at his hands in his lap. “I guess he isn’t comatose,” Zayn drawls, unimpressed and roughly tugs Horan closer. Harry doesn’t look up as they kiss, but he can hear the noises and they don’t sound the least bit gentle, Horan mewling wantonly and Zayn muttering things that would make porn look pure. 

 

“You are all ridiculous,” A voice breaks into the calm of the room and for once Harry genuinely doesn’t recognise the person who’s speaking. He’s tall, probably Harry’s height or slightly taller. He has cropped honey brown hair and his voice is as deep as the ocean, accented thickly with a West Midlands twang. “Zayn,” The boy releases a suffering sigh. “Are you not wearing _clothes_?”

 

Zayn shoots him a dark look over his shoulder. “Niall’s wearing ‘em.”

 

The brown-haired boy shakes his head like he’s done with the planet, the entire universe even and says, “You’re all ridiculous,” again like the first time wasn’t enough. Then his warm brown eyes fix on Harry and he’s reminded of Woody from Toy Story. They are large, kind and brave. “Sorry about the peep-show, the name’s Liam. You alright?”

 

Harry can’t speak, his throat feels too dry and honestly he’s a bit - very - overwhelmed, but he manages to nod at least. Liam smiles warmly at him and rubs the back of his throat before shooting the other two another withering look. “Can you stop fucking around for a minute? Breakfast is ready.” 

 

That gets Niall’s attention at least, pulling away from Zayn with a wet noise and skipping away. The dark skinned boy wastes no time following him, not bothering to cover up. Liam heaves a breath and pumps his fist in triumph, an action that has Harry raising his eyebrows. Where the actual fuck is he?

“Sorry, what’s your name?” Liam says, like it’s perfectly normal that Harry is there. Like he’s been sleeping there every day of the week and only just ran into him. 

 

“Harry.” Someone says, and it sounds like a happy greeting, but it’s not him and his green eyes dart to the doorway again. It’s a slender brunette with curves that could make jaws drop in an instant. Pretty is an understatement he thinks and wonders when his life became Teen Vogue. 

 

Harry can only blink as she gives Liam a peck on the lips before hopping onto the bed and sitting at the edge of it. “How are you feeling?” She asks sympathetically. Her hair is thick and brown, not noticeably different from her skintone, and bunched up in a ponytail. She looks altogether too awake and put together to have been drinking the night before. Harry hates her for it. 

 

“Shit,” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, why am I here?”

 

The pair burst into ridiculous laughter and Harry notes that he has to kill himself as soon as he has the chance. Once they’re done clutching their sides and giggling breathlessly, Liam speaks. “Do you not remember? None of it?”

 

Harry shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in apprehension. 

 

The girl immediately launches into the story while Liam just stares at her like a puppy would his prize bone. “Well! You ran off, right? - So, like, Louis went after you, which was dead cool of him because I really wanted to _dance_ \- sorry, babe - and apparently you told him he wrote you a love note on your arm?” She watches him for confirmation and Harry just nods, blushing hotly. “Yeah, apparently he was _livid_ about that - Zayn didn’t hear the end of it.”

 

“Zayn?” Harry cuts in, baffled.

 

“The naked boy from before,” Liam answers and the girl shoots him a strange look.

 

“Zayn’s naked and I _missed_ it?” She exclaims with dripping disappointment and Liam scowls. 

 

“No, I mean, why is he mad at Zayn over it?” Harry asks quietly, and this question seems to sum up everything he’s wanted to know for a week. Why Louis left that note, or didn’t leave it, apparently. The girl looks at him sympathetically, can probably see right through his meek question.

 

“Zayn wrote it as a joke,” She says carefully. “Thought it would be funny. Apparently you told Louis he was pretty? That he’s exactly the kind of boy you’d fall in love with?”

 

A weak groan slips past his lips. “ _I did not_.” When she nods, lips set somewhere between a frown and an amused smile, he wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

 

When he’s done slamming his head down onto his knees a few times he sits up again and asks, almost sagely, “So? Why does this end with me here?”

 

“Well, you started _crying_ ,” She says honestly, and even ‘red’ was an understatement when it came to the colour of his cheeks. “Something about an - um, Nick? Was his name Nick, Liam?”

 

“Think so, Dani,” Liam says, and he’s looking at Harry like he’s prepared to rush over and hug him if he needs to. 

 

Dani nods and looks back at Harry. “So, we went to find Lou and saw you there with him, and he was holding you and you were sobbing. - Then you stopped crying at some point, and I guess you’d passed out. So, we took you home with us. Just to make sure you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning during the night - we promise we kept our hands to ourselves, pretty as you are.”

 

Harry’s face is hot, both because he can’t remember the last time someone’s called him pretty and because embarrassment is the only thing he thinks he can feel. Numbly, he nods, accepting the explanation. “Thanks,” He croaks, pressing his face to his knees. He hasn’t mentioned Nick to anyone in a year, and now one - no, five people knew because he was drunk, and broken-hearted over a boy he’d barely even talked to. 

 

Dani crawls over and envelops him in a hug, and it surprises him because she feels like the first friend he’s made since he got here. He hugs her back lamely, one arm hooking over her shoulders before she pulls back and pinches his cheek. “Don’t worry, love. We’re _all_ misfits here, you’ll fit right in.” If Harry could add ‘x’s at the end of sentences verbally, too, he would add a thousand for her because she deserves it. He knows Liam thinks so, too, because there are practically hearts in his eyes as he looks at her. “Now, up with you, if we don’t run to the kitchen, Niall will eat all the food.”

 

“And worse, he might be eating it off _Zayn_ ,” Liam adds with a tone that suggests it wouldn’t be the first time this has happened. 

No further encouragement is needed as Harry’s stomach growls and Dani drags him out of bed. They live in a student flat, one adjacent to the second big campus grounds of the University. It’s a pretty good location, Liam explains, because there is a Lidl, Subway, Noodle bar, and a Dominos all in walking distance. He says the only flats that are better are the ones right to those outlets, but Louis is the one who went house hunting and he described those flats as “freakishly Orwellian.” Louis, Zayn, Niall, Liam, and a boy named Matt live in this flat, apparently, whereas Danielle lives in one of the flats upstairs with four other girls. He learns that Liam, Zayn, Louis and Matt have known each other since Zayn was in his first year, and have been living together since Zayn was in his second. Apparently, Zayn found Niall and took him in a year ago, but Liam doesn’t elaborate how. He tells Harry that they’re one of those subjects better left unopened. Zayn, who is a Bradford native, came aboard for the full University experience which apparently means bars, clubs, drugs, alcohol, and sex. He loves the culture of being on his own and free to do as he pleased, and Niall just loves Zayn. Liam says this is all Harry needs to know and that it’s better not to get involved because it’s an earthquake’s volume of trouble, and it isn’t worth it. 

 

Liam doesn’t tell him much about Louis either, to Harry’s dismay because while he might have felt startlingly dejected about Louis the night before, the fact he took care of him made that swell of endearment grow to a maximum point once more. He just says that both Lou and Matt are from Yorkshire, except Louis is from Doncaster and Matt from Sheffield, and that Louis is the hipster of the group - whatever that means. Apparently, Liam has a stunning amount to divulge about Matt. He’s the golden boy of the group apparently, the kid Zayn would be if he stops thinking exclusively with his second head. He was JCR president, and is in the Student Union as well as the local student media group. Liam talks about him like Harry’s mother would talk about George Clooney. He begins to question his feelings for Dani until Liam states she’s his girlfriend, and has been since the first month of his first year. He rambles about Danielle and about how she’s a dancer and is in several societies until they reach the kitchen, and Harry nearly falls over at the sight of Niall pressed up against the fridge, and is that whipped cream on his - 

 

“ _Really_ , Zayn?!” Liam snaps and Zayn turns his head to face them, his lips smeared with cream and something else. 

 

“Problem?” He spits, glaring at Liam darkly.

 

“Quit your bad boy act and get the fuck out of here before I cut you both.” Harry is surprised at Danielle’s forcefulness, but it works, Zayn scooping Niall up by the backs of his thighs and carrying him out of the room. Harry hears moans moments later and can’t help but flinch. Danielle shoots him an apologetic smile. “You get used to them.”

 

“Not really,” Liam argues for the sake of being honest. “You really, never get used to it. I mean never.”

 

“Great,” He murmurs weakly and sits down when he’s prompted to, gratefully accepting the slice of toast that Liam offers him. When Dani asks for coffee he eagerly nods, and he’s amazed by how easily they fit him into their routine, like he belongs there, like he always has. 

 

That wonder is shattered as soon as someone else walks into the room. Ruffled from sleep and looking adorable, the object of his childish fantasies for the past week stumbles into the kitchen like there’s nothing out of place there. He yawns, and Harry can’t help but notice his eyes crinkle at the corner when he does that, too, and that his skin is sun-kissed and his arms are _lean_. He catches the sight of silver glimmering in the light, notices piercings he’d felt but not seen before, sees tattoos disappearing into the edges of his sweater. He’s never seen Louis in daylight before, and it renders him breathless. If beauty could be embodied by one human being, Harry would choose it to be Louis a thousand times over. Liam and Danielle are having a friendly debate about the latest FIFA vs. its predecessor, and Louis doesn’t even acknowledge them, but his blue eyes dart over to Harry and his lips slide into a sleepy smile. “Looking fresh,” Louis comments, noticing the way Harry is dying over his cup of coffee because his head is trying to murder him, he swears.

 

“Feeling like it’s Christmas day,” Harry says, or tries to say, but stammers it instead. 

 

“Your face is red,” The other boy remarks as he fixes himself a cup of tea. Tea, not coffee, Harry notes, stores that fact somewhere in the back of his mind for future use. 

 

“I’m Rudolph, obviously,” He jokes meekly, and earns a snicker. Those blue eyes are trained on him and Harry feels betrayed by the nervous lump that rises in his throat. 

 

“I thought only Rudolph’s nose is red.” Louis is smirking now, sipping his tea and looking more gorgeous doing that than any person should. Harry wants to slap himself. It’s England, tea isn’t exactly a rare beverage of choice here, he reminds himself, but can’t help but stare at the boy anyway.

 

He swallows thickly. “That’s - That’s the abridged version,” He insists, ducking his head down and hoping his curls obscure his blush from view. 

 

“ _Abridged,”_ Louis echoes and there’s delight in his voice as he does this. “Harry Styles, I cannot believe you would ruin the spirit of one of Christmas’ favoured mascots just to spare your dignity.”

 

He can’t help but shiver at how his full name sounds rolling off Louis’s tongue. Can’t help but smile, laugh even at Louis’s quip, even if it is at his own expense. In a moment of sickening clarity, he realises this is only the second time he’s properly seen Louis, the first time he’s seen him sober, and he still can’t help a lot of things when it comes to this one boy. He knows from now it will probably be the death of him as Louis winks at him, his heart fluttering horribly at that.

 

“Destiny calls,” Louis announces, jutting his chin towards the hallway where they’d come from before. “That couch was criminal, and now real sleep awaits.” Harry waves at him shyly, but then realises what this means. He slept in Louis’s room last night, he’d slept in his bed, he’d practically slept with Louis. He is so overwhelmed that he barely registers a velvety voice saying goodbye and a note being slipped in between his fingers. 

 

His eyes flicker upwards at the paper lodged between his long fingers. The handwriting is distinguishably different. It’s cursive, neat, and almost unreal in its beauty - much like Louis himself, he thinks. Like before, the words inked on the page startle him, but this time a smile crawls onto his face with the knowledge that it genuinely _is_ from him this time.

 

_I break for lunch at two. Costa by Blackwell’s? xx Lou._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reads and kudos(es?) so far. They mean a lot, and I'm glad you guys are reading. As you might have noted, the "chapters" are getting longer. It's because I'm not sectioning them as properly as I should. Once the work is done I'll edit around and make sure the chapters are about the same length and tie in to each other properly. However, for the sake of timely instalments, I've decided to forgo neatness. Forgive me. x


	4. Things That Shouldn't Happen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Right, well, I think you know where this is headed. I’m going to say I’m not interested, and then we’ll part ways civilly, pretend we never knew each other.”_

 

 

Louis met an interesting boy, and he isn’t too sure how he feels about that. It’s not that he’s wonky looking, or dodgy - in fact he’s a bit fit in Louis’s humble opinion. His hair curls haphazardly, his eyes are the sort of green that is a cliche - the sort of green novelists would describe as emerald, but he would choose to describe as algae - and his mouth is sinfully pink. They’ve met twice, and Louis asked him to coffee that morning on a whim, inspired by the way he tried and failed to hide his blush behind bad jokes and ducking his face away. Louis thinks maybe he wants to shag him, reasons with himself that it can’t possibly be anything else. He can’t shag him though, that fact remained unspoken over breakfast, but he could still see it in Dani’s eyes for the mere second their eyes met. Harry is already too invested, and he can’t have a fresher clinging to his side and crying all the time. He’ll have to ask him to back off _kindly_. Harry’s a cute kid, he’ll find someone else to dote on and coincidentally run into a disturbing amount of times. Plus they’ve only barely snogged once, Harry getting too clingy right afterward, and Louis really doesn’t want to deal with that. He has coursework and charts to draw, and it’s bad enough that he’s doing Architecture and falling slightly behind on the workload without throwing an overly friendly fresher into the mix. 

 

Right now he’s sitting in his choice seat at Costa cradling a mug of blackcurrant tea and jotting words down onto a napkin. He always writes and leaves them there for other people to read, or probably wipe their noses with. He writes:

 

I found you,

in four syllables,

and painted you 

_red_ with heartache. 

Slid the brush against the curves of your name

and left you to dry.

 

It’s only after he’s finished the last curved ‘y’ that he realises what he’s on about. The memory of his encounter with Harry the first time crashing back. He remembers sitting upstairs because Zayn was making an awful scene of grinding against a busty brunette and Niall stormed off, Liam rushing after him. Remembers thinking it the worst guys night out in the history of the universe, and that it could only get worse. And this is where Harry comes in, stumbling and off his face, eyebrows furrowed angrily at the centre before he plops down right beside Louis. “Am I a slut?!” He remembers him yelling over the music indignantly, and it was easily the strangest part of his night. Four syllables. The most immediate thought that flashed through his mind when he asked that was: _I hope so_. It feels terrible remembering how the he immediately thought with his dick, but he could hardly help it. Harry is attractive, this is a fact that even Zayn acknowledged after calling Louis a cradle robber a few times. He didn’t think that he would wake up one morning with the knowledge that Harry would be sleeping in his bed, without anything sexual attached to that small fun fact. 

 

Taking an angry sip of his tea, and he does this by fixing his face into a scowl as he's drinking, he tries to refocus his thoughts. He has to be absolutely calm if this is to be done right. He can’t have himself giving the boy the wrong impression, leading him on or anything remotely similar to that. The boy is already dangerously interested in him. He’s called Louis pretty, perfect, and told him about his unfavourable past ex, Ned or whatever his name was. While his heart genuinely did bleed for this kid, he doesn’t want this. He can’t do this, can’t attach himself to anyone so it’s better to cut him off before he starts sinking his roots into his life. After all, he saw it this very morning, how Harry is like the piece of a puzzle they’ve all been missing, someone that fit into their environment with comfortable, natural ease. It’s terrible, how it seems like he’s always been there. Like he was made to be, and so Louis has to destroy him while he’s ahead in this game. 

 

It’s then that the chair in front of him is being pulled back and a lanky figure drops down in front of him, out of breath with flushed cheeks and a smile he just wants to wipe off his face. Those dimples, too. They need to go. The reminder that he needs to be gentle with this boy is the only thing that keeps him from narrowing his eyes into a glare. “Sorry, I’m late,” Harry gasps, still breathless, as he sets down his bag. “Tea again?”

 

Louis looks down at his mug in confusion and then back at Harry. “I don’t drink coffee,” he says flatly, unsure why the boy found the question relevant in the first place. 

 

The boy’s grin doesn’t falter at his words, and a blush creeps onto his cheeks. ‘Fuck, _really?!_ ’ Louis’s thoughts shout at him, but outwardly all he does is toss him a gentle smile. “I thought so,” Harry says meekly, tucking a curl behind his ear and if Louis could start a petition for Harry fucking Styles to shave all his hair off, he would.

 

“So,” Louis begins, because this needs to end soon, because he wants to go back to being completely alone and unattainable, because Harry can’t be around and Louis can’t constantly reject him. “You want to shag me.”

 

Harry splutters, and if he had a drink he probably would have spat that out, too. Instead he gawks at Louis, his expression a mixture of being appalled, caught off guard, and embarrassed at exposure. 

 

“It’s okay if you do,” Louis continues calmly, his blue eyes shifting to his tea because he feels incapable of looking at the boy’s face. “You wouldn’t be the first to.”

“Whoa, Louis!” Harry interrupts loudly, face beetroot red. People look their way and Louis wants to smack him. “I think you have the wr-wrong idea, um. I’m not - I’m not _expecting_ anything, I-”

 

“I know you’re not, you’d be a bit silly if you did, no?” Louis says unkindly. “You want to.”

 

With defeat, Harry nods. “B-But I’d sleep with Zayn, too,” his voice isn’t suited for lies, Louis notes. It becomes even thicker and faster by a notch. “It’s just because you’re attractive.”

 

“Right, well, I think you know where this is headed. I’m going to say _I’m not interested,_ and then we’ll part ways civilly, pretend we never knew each other.” Louis looks up now and nearly flinches at how crestfallen he looks. 

 

“You kissed me,” Harry states. There is no accusation in his voice, but there is plenty in his wide, bottle green eyes.

 

“You looked like you wanted it,” Louis retorts effortlessly. “That’s not the point, anyway, the point is-”

 

“I get it,” Harry cuts him off, laughing humourlessly. His normally endearing laugh is laced with hurt and Louis doesn’t like it, not one bit. His mouth slackens into a frown as Harry ducks his face down, trying to obscure his eyes using his ridiculous hair. “Like I said, I didn’t expect anything - I’m just... yeah, and you’re just _you_. And you - you’re nice so you probably just felt sorry for me, and that’s why you kissed me, I _get it_.”

 

Normally, Louis’s inner poet, the great artist in him that wanted to be so much more, wanted to inspire people with pretty sonnets and bring entire stages to life, would scoff at his lame explanation, his poor command of the language. This time, Louis’s inner poet hurts instead, wants to take an eraser and destroy the pain he just made Harry feel. It’s stupid, because Harry doesn’t know him and this is just lust, and he’s painfully reminded of Niall who just spends his time looking at Zayn while the latter spends all of his looking elsewhere unless otherwise provoked. 

 

He finds himself setting his mug down quietly, sees himself cupping Harry’s chin and tilting his face upward before he even registers the fact his body moved at all, and _tastes_ his lips against his before his mind clicks into place. By then it’s too late, and he’s moving his lips against the boy’s in slow, slick drags of tongue and mouth and teeth. Even if it weren’t too late, even if he could move away, Louis finds himself thinking he wouldn’t.

 

 

-x-

 

“So,” Liam is the first one who speaks, voice breaking the silence uncomfortably. “What, are you _dating_ now?”

 

“Shagging,” Zayn corrects automatically, but his eyes aren’t focused on Liam or Louis, but on Niall who is talking to the bartender and batting his eyelashes more than is really necessary. 

 

“Neither,” Louis says coolly. “We’re just hanging out.” He stabs at his pizza. 

 

“Hanging out,” Liam echoes. “Louis, you can’t just - he’s _nice_.” Liam’s voice is patient, and Louis feels bad for him, because really it’s like he takes it upon himself to be the group’s father. It’s not working out for him. 

 

“I know,” He deadpans hollowly. “That’s why I couldn’t say no.” 

 

Liam looks like he wants to cry, but takes a swig of his Ginger Joe instead. 

 

“So, Zayn,” Louis really says this to both skillfully dodge the subject and also because he wants to test if Zayn will pay any attention at all, amused by the way the boy’s fingers are tightening around his pint glass at the sight of the bartender brushing something off Niall’s shoulder. “Was today a cadaver day?”

 

Not at all to his surprise, Zayn doesn’t respond, pushing out of his chair and making his way to the bar. “Those two,” Louis whistles, before meeting Liam’s eyes again.

 

“They drive me mad,” Liam says brokenly. “They really, really do.” 

 

This just makes Louis smile as he takes a generous bite out of his pizza. “We going out tonight?”

 

“Mhm. Electric Banana,” Liam says with a smile, seemingly having forgotten all about Harry.

 

“Tradition,” Louis grins.

 

 

-x-

 

What breaks this tradition is absently texting Harry while they’re pre-drinking at the Mix and asking him if he wants to come along. Which of course, he does, and then they’re all packed into a tiny cab together. The driver is completely unamused by Zayn and Niall. Usually this would be because they’re flirting shamelessly with each other, or worse, practically fucking in the back seat, but this time it’s them tossing insults back and forth. Liam rides in the front, and Harry and Louis are sandwiched between Zayn and Niall.

 

“You’re such a cunt,” Niall says, like he can’t believe it.

 

“Yeah, well you’re a whore,” Zayn tosses back without a second thought to his words, without realising what they mean. Louis shoots him a worried look at this, and he sees how his eyes soften with regret the second he says it.

 

Niall just ducks his head away, pressing his face against his window. When he speaks, his voice is fragile and wavers a little. “Yeah, that’s right.” Is all he says. Normally, Niall can dish back anything Zayn gives him, but this is overstepping the line and everyone in the car knows it - except Harry, who is looking adorably clueless, and the driver who is staring at the red traffic light like it’s the worst thing on earth. Liam’s shoulders tense, but he says nothing, and when Zayn stares at Niall longingly for a second before looking out the window, Louis drops his own gaze down to his lap. The atmosphere is so, so awful until he feels something warm and large encase his hand and a smile crawls onto Louis’s face despite the fact he knows it’s _Harry’s_ hand, or perhaps _because_ it’s him. 

 

They arrive at the Bodega Social, a bar most days and a club on two, and pay the driver. Liam flashes him an apologetic look when he does this, before stepping back and searching the queue for signs of Danielle and Matt. “I don’t think they’re here yet,” He says finally. “Or maybe they’re inside.” He decides to fish for his phone. Louis and Harry are still holding hands, and he’s not quite sure how he feels about that. 

 

“Dani? - Dan,” Liam says into the phone. “Oh! Matthew, my lover, where have you kidnapped my girlfriend and run off to?” Liam seems to laugh at something said on the other end, and Louis looks over at Harry. He’s surprised to find the boy already looking at him, his cheeks flushed with inebriation, but his green eyes focused at ever. He can’t help the gasp that only just slips past his lips. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. He doesn’t specify, knows he doesn’t need to because Niall is still dead quiet and there is more tension in Zayn’s body than there would be in an entire mob of angry villagers. 

 

“It’s okay. My mates fight sometimes, too,” Harry soothes, grinning like a maniac.

 

“You have _friends_?” Louis shoots back with mock shock, a grin tugging at his lips. 

 

“Millions,” Harry confirms, his own grin widening even more. Louis thinks dimples should be illegal. “Don’t you see them crowding us?”

 

“Of course, can scarcely breathe. Do you have a name for this gargantuan bratpack?” Louis finds himself laughing. This isn’t supposed to be fun, to be warm, but it is. “Rudolph and his reindeers?” 

 

The most stunning smile on Earth, that’s how Louis would describe the boy’s expression. 

 

A smile that almost immediately crumbles when broad arms wrap around Louis’s waist, and a deep voice shouts, “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” 

 

Louis tries not to care. “Off! Off, you peasant, or it’s off with your head!” But he wants that smile back so badly in that moment, it’s scary. He doesn’t like it.

 

 

-x-

 

When they get back to the flat it’s four AM, and Matt says it’s nice to meet Harry for the eighth time that evening before skipping off to his room. Harry, for his part, is so blissfully drunk himself that he’s plopped on the couch, using Louis’s lap as a pillow, while Louis carelessly plays with his hair. “Matt’s nice,” Harry sighs drunkenly, eyes fluttering close as Louis threads his fingers through his hair soothingly. 

 

“He is,” Louis agrees, because Matt’s one of the nicest people he knows, really. “He’s _very_ nice.” He repeats as he hears Danielle say something that definitely isn’t PG-13 to Liam before dragging him out of the flat. Fantastic.

 

“Do you like him?” And he’s surprised at how easily the question is thrown out into the open.

 

“Not in the way you’re asking,” Louis reassures him, finding Harry’s hand with one of his own and brushing a kiss over his knuckles. 

 

“Oh,” Harry says like it’s the greatest news he’s ever heard. Then, “He likes you.”

 

“I know,” Louis frowns. “But so do you.”

 

“Too right,” Harry’s grinning like a maniac, can’t see Louis’s darkened expression. “I like you too much.”

 

“You do,” He agrees solemnly and it’s that moment that Niall collapses back into one of the armchairs, along with the whole bread basket. Louis wonders how he didn’t freeze his arse off in that sheer white singlet, and faded grey skinnies, then sees mascara run and thinks it better not to tease him. “Not off to bed, Nialler?” He asks carefully. 

 

“No.” The boy replies hoarsely, voice thick with tears as he takes a bite out of a bun. Louis’s eyes flicker to Zayn’s door, the handle of which sheathed by a black sock. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” The blond says bitterly. “Harry - You alright, mate?”

 

“Never been better,” Harry smiles, so far gone the world can’t touch him, and sits up. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, I got myself into this.” Niall smiles kindly at his effort, but it’s a brittle smile that looks like it could very easily break. “So, you’re the new guy.”

 

“Am I?” The self-doubt makes Louis cringe as they both look his way. 

 

“Harry,” Louis starts, and he tries his best to say this gently. “If you’re going to stay in my life, you should know there are rules.”

 

Niall snorts against a breadstick. 

 

“Hmh?” Harry voices, unable to form words probably.

 

“Whenever we’re busy, you have to remind me to put a sock on the door. We won’t be shagging just yet though, so don’t get too excited. I’m a classy lass, I expect the whole armada of gentlemanly wooing, of course.” Harry beams at this, but Louis tries his best not to let this distract him, and it’s really difficult because all he wants is to kiss the boy until his lips are a raw red and all those hums become moans. “We label food we don’t want anyone touching - otherwise, help yourself and ignore it if anyone starts crying. _No_ touching Danielle - gay or not, Liam’s not going to trust you enough to expect that without saying, and - hm, what else, Horan?”

 

“No sleeping with Zayn,” Niall says, and though he’s smiling at the inside joke his voice still sounds slightly broken. 

 

“Oh yeah, have you seen how Niall eats ribs? You wouldn’t want to be at the wrath of that.”

 

“S’okay,” Harry promises sleepily. “I only like you, Lou. Only you.” 

 

“Brilliant,” Louis says with no enthusiasm whatsoever. “You’re a handful.”

 

“Two handfuls,” Harry corrects.

 

“Y’what?” Niall says. 

 

“I’m big. Two handfuls.” 

 

They both burst into laughter, though Louis takes a moment to say, “That is a joke better ventured sober, dear Harold.”

 

“I’ll remember next time, I promise,” Harry says softly, seriously. “But it wasn’t a joke.”

 

Louis can’t quite remember the last time he’d laughed that hard, that earnestly. Can’t remember the last time he went to bed happy, and amused, and held in someone’s arms for reasons other than sex. Can’t place a finger on any of these things, but he still finds himself very grateful. That is, in spite of the nagging voice in his head that tells him it can’t last much longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Thanks for all your readership. :] Someone enquired earlier whether I had a tumblr or not. I do now and it's [Stylinsmex](http://stylinsmex.tumblr.com) in case anyone else wanted to know. Also I have a prequel fic, a backstory for Niall in three parts which is echoed a lot in this story, in case you're interested in having a read. It's up on this account.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at this again. Hopefully I won't make your eyes bleed.  
> Also, hm, this is set in the UK. I'll try not to confuse you, but there are some differences between Unis here and there. Never feel afraid to ask about anything. c:


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